


Nothing But A Mirror

by aspermoth



Category: Total Nonstop Action Wrestling
Genre: Abuse, Beating, Escape, Explicit Language, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, Physical Abuse, Serotonin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 17:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspermoth/pseuds/aspermoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaz encounters an old team-mate before his match at Genesis, an old team-mate who has thoughts on their time together and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Genesis

TNA Genesis, and it's the biggest night of Kaz's life so far – or at least, since he left Serotonin. It's a _ladder_ match, against _Christian Cage_ , with a _title shot_ on the line. He's wrestling the Instant Classic in his signature match for the biggest prize he could be wrestling for short of the title itself. It's going to be tough as hell.

He rolls his shoulders back, stretches his neck from side to side, unable to keep still – he needs to be alert, he needs to be pumped. He _is_ pumped. Are his hands shaking? He can't tell. Hopefully nobody else can, either. If he can look the picture of composure, he might _feel_ composed and then he might not screw this up.

The tunnel before him is striped red and blue. Red for passion, blue for calm. Calm. _Calm_.

The faint echoes of Christian's entrance music floats down to his ears, the sound of violins drawing across his nerves like bows drawing across strings, playing him, stretching him taut.

 _No. Calm. Calm._

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath that he slowly exhales. Calm. He's calm.

Until he opens his eyes and catches sight of something, movement, just out of sight but still there. Somebody's there.

Kaz throws a cursory glance over. Maybe it's one of the backstage crew with a message or something. Maybe it's something completely irrelevant. He can't afford to be distracted for too long.

Then that somebody steps out of the shadows, and it turns out that he's a very familiar somebody indeed, a familiar somebody with dark blond hair and a band of black face-paint across his eyes raccoon-style.

Just when he was thinking Serotonin was good for good, up pops Havok – Johnny – no, _Havok_ – to haunt him. Distract him. Make him lose his focus. But Kaz isn't going to let that happen. Not now.

"Havok," he says, cold and cursory as possible.

"Kaz."

Silence. Not even a correction for the name. Maybe that's a good sign. It doesn't explain why Havok's here, though, so Kaz clenches his jaw and sighs.

"What do you want?"

"To wish you luck for your match."

Havok's still, still as a statue almost – even his face barely moves. And his voice is giving nothing away – smooth, level, no passion in it at all. Kaz looks at him hard and frowns.

"Thanks?"

"Oh, don't thank me. You'll need luck tonight, because there's no other damn way you're going to win."

"That's what you think," Kaz replies through clenched teeth. _Calm. Calm._

The move is sudden, unexpected. One moment, Havok is over there: the next, he's so close that Kaz can feel breath hot on his neck.

"That's what I _know_ ," he hisses, lips all but touches Kaz's ear, words dripping with venom. "You're _nothing_ without Serotonin, Kaz. _Nothing_. And you _know_ it."

Kaz jerks away, turns so that his back is to the tunnel rather than to Havok, hands curling into fists.

"And you're nothing _with_ Serotonin," he snarls. "Got any gold? Is Raven doing _anything_ for you? Or is he all tied up with Mitchell and Black Reign?"

Havok – or maybe he _is_ still Johnny, somewhere – takes a step back, eyes widening, like a man who has lost his footing and is trying to find it again.

"You're wrong."

"And you're _nothing_. Now get lost."

The sound of his own entrance music is loud above him. Havok visibly winces with the shock but Kaz manages to hold himself together and simply turns his back, expecting Havok to jump him and kick the crap out of him.

But it doesn't come. The expected pain fails to make itself known. Havok – Johnny? – does nothing at all.

So Kaz takes a deep breath and starts down the tunnel.

*

It's like being drunk. The euphoria, the dizziness, the complete exhaustion: everything feels like Kaz has been on an amazing night out and got to just the right sweet spot to feel on top of the world. He strides – well, he hobbles – triumphantly towards the locker room, nodding to acknowledge the backstage staff and fellow wrestlers who stop to commend him for his performance. The clipboard's still held tight in his hand. The officials insisted they needed to take the contract, but he couldn't let go of the clipboard itself. He still can't. His fingers may well have locked into that shape by now.

Everything hurts: not just some of him but _all_ of him, except maybe his hair and a few of the toes on his left foot.

But who cares? He's shown Christian that he's not the big man he thinks he is, he's shown the fans that he can kick ass and bring down the house, and he's shown Havok – Johnny – whatever – that he does _not_ need Serotonin to get to where he wants to go.

He finally parts the Sea of Congratulators and darts as quickly as anybody who has been thrown off a ladder multiple times can dart down a side corridor to the locker room. He's through the door and closing it before anybody else can see him because he needs some peace and quiet to take all of this in.

Then he turns around to find Havok right behind him.

"Shit!"

He jerks back, the clipboard slipping from his fingers and landing on the floor with a clatter. Havok shies back like a nervous horse, hands raising to chest level before dropping down to his sides again. Kaz leans back against the door, his pulse thudding in his neck.

"Don't _do_ that. _Jesus_. What do you _want_?"

"I – I'm –" Havok breaks off and swallows hard. "You did good."

"... really? You stalked me just for _that_?"

"You did good. I – I watched your match."

"You and everybody else in the building, Havok."

For a moment, Havok's body tenses and his mouth opens just slightly, lips parting a little, as though ready to voice an objection. But nothing comes and his mouth closes again in silence.

Kaz closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and tries very hard not to sigh. He's starting shaking, although whether it's due to how tired he is or from the shock of Havok appearing right behind him or from the death of his buzz is uncertain. He liked Johnny. He feared and hated Havok. This person, though, is somebody else. Not quite Johnny Devine, but not quite Havok either. Somewhere between. And he has neither the time for the inclination to sort things out for him.

"What do you _want_?" he asks again, opening his eyes.

Havok is gone.

The door at the other end of the locker room is slightly ajar: before, it was closed. Subtle, but not fool-proof. Havok does not do the spooky vanishing thing anywhere near as well as somebody like Sting.

But either way, Kaz is left alone.


	2. Undone

_on my back, shoulders down, not all there, can't roll out, ref counts, crowd shouts, one, two, three strikes, you're out_

Johnny Devine spent about a year in Serotonin. He was its longest standing non-Raven member, clinging on long after Matt and Frankie had cut and run. At first, he stayed because he believed. Raven had promised him glory, power, revenge on those who had wronged him or ignored his talents, but the twisted old bastard had given him nothing but humiliation, beatings and pain. And after he no longer believed, he still stayed: he stayed because he'd lost something along the way. Somewhere along the line, he'd forgotten how to function on his own.

 _get up, assume the position, Matt-Martyr to the left, Frankie-Kaz to the right, waiting for Him, Mr Pain and Punishment, oh God_

Frankie hadn't forgotten, although he had forgotten his name, it seemed. Raven had changed them all: Frankie to Kaz, Matt to Martyr, and Johnny to Havok. It made it easier to lose themselves in the role, to forget what they were promised, to give everything to Raven and expect nothing back. Kaz was still Kaz, though: he could escape, but he couldn't forget. Johnny couldn't do either. Kaz had the strength and the will, the lucky bastard, and he didn't, and that's just how it was.

 _fear, I'm scared, can't be scared but I am, He's here, Raven's here, can't get away, don't try, take it, don't move, just take it, fucking take it, so scared_

Kaz was a free man. Kaz was living life his way and succeeding. Kaz was getting ladder matches against Christian Cage for title shots. Johnny? Johnny was watching from the shadows, envying, respecting, admiring, letting all his mixed-up feelings glue themselves together into one great big ugly ball of obsession. Kaz, the idol, the strong one, the man of freedom. He tried to talk to Kaz once, on the night he wrestled Cage, and all he could do was spit bile and then fail to make amends. It was as though Kaz could paralyse his mind just by being there, by his mere presence alone. And the months passed. Maverick Matt the Martyr left TNA altogether and then it was just Havok – Johnny – him – and Raven left and then Serotonin just sort of faded away. It ended on an inglorious whimper and he never took that chance to walk out.

 _blow after blow, hurts so much, don't scream don't scream don't scream, fuck, fuck, hat over my eyes, so long, fuck, hate Martyr, hate Kaz, should be them, not me, hurts so fucking much fuck but now it's over and Raven take his hat back and fuck it hurts but it's over, thank fuck it's over_

Johnny walked straight out of the frying-pan of Serotonin and into the fire of Team 3D. It was Kaz he was looking for – when wasn't it Kaz these days? – not _them_. He never saw them coming. They jumped him outside the locker room, bound him, gagged him, and told him that he was part of their plan. He couldn't say no. Brother Ray knew a thing or two about pain, and Johnny just couldn't take it any more.

 _scared, I'm scared again, shouldn't be scared, but Ray's belt comes down, crack like a gunshot, fuck it hurts and I'm screaming this time, "you're nothing on your own!', "they all hate your little midget ass!", "you can be something with Team 3D!", every sentence punctuated with pain, no more, make it stop, "okay! okay! just stop, please"_

And then Johnny was Johnny again, only a new Johnny this time, a cocky, arrogant piece of shit Johnny who could maybe convince everybody else he was all that great if he believed it himself. The Johnny Devine who betrayed the X-Division, no less. Now nobody apart from Ray and Devon would talk to him for what he'd done. People didn't quite spit at him in the corridors, but if looks could kill, he'd be dead a thousand times over. He hadn't seen Kaz in some time, but he could imagine: Johnny, fucking Johnny, betraying him, betraying everyone who ever cared about him, bouncing from asshole team to asshole team. Kaz called him "nothing" once. Maybe he was right. Johnny couldn't even say his name any more. He fell apart.

 _one thought of you and I am undone_


End file.
